ate fidelity still lingered, and, although
Robert Orange was the ideal passion of her heart, Reckage possessed a
certain influence over her which was not the less powerful because it
had its root and constant nourishment in their common memory of a
childhood and first youth spent together in the same county, with the
same friends and the same bores. She slipped his letter, with a sigh,
into her belt, and turned her attention for the third time to Pensee's
tear-stained pages.

MY DARLING SARA,--I can scarcely write. Although I know the mercy
and wisdom hidden in these sad events, my heart is heavy. The best
thing is to preach resignation _till_ you have it; and then,
_because_ you have it, you _will_ preach it. Robert's love of
Brigit makes little outward show, but I know that it is terribly
real. We are never so near to our loved ones as when we have left
them for God, but _nearness_ of that intangible, invisible kind
amounts to agony. At least, I think so. Robert's self-restraint is
killing me. When we first met, he shook from head to foot, his very
face quivered, but he said nothing. I felt that he would never
allow any one to speak of this trouble or offer him the least
sympathy. In the necessary discussion of the legal aspects of the
case, he was very calm, and seemed rather an adviser himself than
the person chiefly concerned. It is not easy to understand him; yet
I appreciate reserve. If everybody could understand us, what joy
would there be in discovering our souls to those whom we love!
Brigit has shut herself up in a room. She cries incessantly (she is
so young) and is dreadfully changed. She wishes to go to Paris--for
she has some idea of resuming her musical studies. Her voice is one
of her great gifts, yet I can't imagine any one singing in such a
tortured state of mind. I don't like to say that actually I fear
for her reason, but she has, I see, far more heart, poor child,
than I ever supposed. How wrong it is to attempt any judgment or
estimate of another person's capacity for suffering! She is in a
pitiable condition, unnaturally patient in a sense--for it is
patience on the rack. Our Lord dreaded suffering and even feared
it. Of course, one might easily say that an unhappy love affair is
very common, that it is almost profane to compare such an ordinary
trouble